


Brushstrokes and Charcoal

by nomequedamas



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, art school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomequedamas/pseuds/nomequedamas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel Chekov and Leonard McCoy meet in their first class at an art school in New York. This is a relatively short one-shot that details the growth of their relationship through art. They are around the same age in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brushstrokes and Charcoal

"Okay," The professor cleared his throat to silence the class. Eight pairs of eyes stared up at him. "Welcome to Intro To Creative Design. I'm your professor, Mr. Bishop, but I prefer to be called Mr. B." 

 

Pavel Chekov already found himself losing concentration as the professor talked briefly through the syllabus, his eyes fading in and out of focus.  _ Do I still have some of that leftover Thai food in my fridge?  _ He absentmindedly picked at his cuticle. "Now, as I said in the email, I wanted you to bring your summer assignments to class. Without further adieu, let's begin review of them." He drew a name out of a bowl. "Leonard McCoy." 

 

A young man seated in the back stood and began to grab his artwork. Tall, a lean frame, neat brown hair. While he stood, Pavel got a good look at his face. His eyes were a fantastic ice blue that lit up the room. He sauntered, almost lazily so, to the front of the classroom. If he was anxious, he was hiding it like a champ. Pavel turned his attention to the art he had begun to set up on the easels. The majority were oil on canvas, beautiful studies of anatomy in breathtaking pop art color schemes, and some charcoal plein air sketches. You could see the attention to detail in every stroke, and the integrity in the composition. He was amazingly talented, and immediately Pavel became self-conscious of his own portfolio. He hoped he didn't have to immediately follow that up. 

 

Leonard stood with his hands clasped behind his back, nervously awaiting the critique of his professor. He hoped he’d seemed calm enough. The room around him grew bigger and scarier as Mr. B’s gaze scrutinized Leonard’s artwork.

 

"Leonard," Mr. B began, his voice deafeningly loud after the tense silence. "I see you've taken an interest in anatomy this summer." Leonard took a breath.

 

"Yes sir. I find the human body breathtaking and wanted to showcase it in a more lighthearted way, to escape the natural aversion to nudity." 

 

"Good. Some of your colors here," the professor pointed his laser pointer at the far corner of one of Leonard's paintings, "are blending together, creating a muddy effect. Try to either clean up those lines or add some black to contrast." 

 

"Yes sir." The critique went on, and Leonard's eyes finally scanned his peers. One broad-shouldered boy caught his attention. He was made of bulk and sharp lines, from his cheekbones to his large chest. His short brown hair was swept to the side above his thick eyebrows, and his lips were pressed together as he scrutinized Leonard's artwork. His body would be a dream for his series on anatomy.

 

Finally Leonard was out of the hot seat, and throughout the rest of the class, he couldn't help but sneak glances at his classmate. 

 

A handful of portfolios later and the professor called Pavel's name.  _ Fuck!  _ He stood and prepared his artwork, his stomach turning with anxiety. His fingers fumbled over the papers and shook as he placed his art on the easels, exposing it to not only Mr. B, but his classmates as well. He had never felt more vulnerable.

 

"Pavel, am I pronouncing that right?" Pavel nodded. "Your portfolio is quite grayscale. What made you so adverse to colors over the summer?" 

 

"I -" his voice faltered, but quickly recovered. "I haven't been  _ feeling _ color lately. When I try to use it, it  _ feels _ wrong. Like I'm violating it." The professor nodded, his eyes not meeting Pavel’s, instead focused intently on the artwork.

 

"Nonetheless, I am quite impressed. There is an obvious focus on Russia. I'm assuming these landscapes are also from Russia?" Pavel nodded. "Very good. Now I want you to note, that we will be using color a lot this semester, specifically color relationships and color palettes. Do know that I am open to any questions or guidance you may need, but this semester make it your goal to tackle color." Another nod. Was it just Pavel or was the room starting to spin? No, it had to just be his nerves. 

 

A few more critiques and Pavel was dismissed to his seat just as time ran out for the class. They were instructed to leave their art, so Pavel felt strangely empty-handed as he walked out of the room. Glancing to the side, he saw the tall, blue-eyed boy - Leonard - leaving as well in the same direction. It wouldn't hurt to chat, right? 

 

"Hey!" Pavel offered, slowing down to match Leonard's pace. "I really loved your art. I wish I had that much control over color. As you saw, I've tried to avoid color altogether." 

 

Leonard smiled at his accent. Definitely Russian. Explains his portfolio. "Thank you," he replied. "I really loved your landscapes. I felt like I could just step into them. Personally, I enjoy black and white pieces. I've always admired them." Pavel smiled in return and thanked him. "Hey, it's about noon -- do you have any plans for lunch?"

 

Lunch? It took Chekov a moment to process the question. He was being asked to lunch? 

"Yes!"  _ Wait _ . "I meant no! No, I don't have plans. Do you have plans?" Leonard laughed. 

 

"No, I certainly don't."

 

"Do you want to..?" Pavel was too shy to ask outright. 

 

"Get lunch? Let's do it." 

 

"Okay!" 

 

\--

 

Pavel smiled fondly as he remembered their first meeting. Lunch that day had been an outright success, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were inseparable. He gazed up at Leonard, sitting five feet away from him, arms outstretched over a canvas as he drew, and his heart swelled with fondness. 

 

It was a Friday night. It was usually Friday night when they sat by each other, working respectively on their own art, music playing out of a phone speaker, as the sounds of charcoal scratching paper, or paint gliding along canvas bubbled up into the ceiling above them and filled the room with a sense of security and familiarity. Words weren’t necessary in this ritual they had, they grew to know more about each other not by asking questions, but rather observing. Leonard had a habit of wiping his brow when he worked, resulting in a rather ridiculous stripe of charcoal or paint across his forehead when he finished. Len hated it; Pav thought it was hilarious. Pavel bit his lip when he was frustrated, so much so that once a drop of blood dripped onto the canvas he was working on. He went to wipe it away, but then decided he liked it. That piece ended up winning a medal. When they celebrated, Leonard bought Pavel chapstick as a congratulatory gift. 

 

Pavel looked up from his sketchbook, meeting eyes with Leonard, who had stopped painting. 

 

“What’s this song called?” Leonard inquired. “It’s new.”

 

“The Swan, by Saint-Saens.” 

 

“I like it.” 

 

“It reminds me of being home.” 

 

“Do you wish you were there right now?”

 

“Нет, I like where I am.” Leonard smiled at him, and Pavel felt his chest warm up. Images of Russia, of his family, of the landscapes, rushed in front of Pav’s eyes. The inviting smell of a warm cup of  _ kasha _ his mom made, the rows and rows of houses you could see from his roof, the rare times his father smiled, like when Pavel got accepted into art school in America. He looked over at the young man sitting across from him. He was hunched over, blending charcoal on the canvas with the pad of his thumb.  _ I like right where I am.  _

 

\-- 

 

“Leonard, what do you wanna do art for?” His mom asked, his acceptance letter into the university in her hand. 

 

“Mom, I don’t have an explanation for you. It’s a part of me. When I’m not working on art, I don’t feel whole.” She grabbed his hand. He did his best not to sigh. They were seated at the kitchen table, and his father was sitting beside her, folding his arms and staring disapprovingly. Dinner sat on their plates, untouched and forgotten. The meal was just a ruse to corner Leonard into this conversation.

 

“You know art isn’t a real career, Lenny. You get out of college and there won’t be any work. You’ll starve. That’s a sayin’ for a reason,” His father added.

 

“I know, dad, but I can’t see myself doing anything else. I’d hate anything else.” 

 

“You think I loved working at the plant? I did it because I had to, Leonard. I didn’t have the luxury of chasing every fever dream I had.” 

 

“But I do, because of how hard you worked. You’re making a–”

 

“–I’ll make a mountain out of a molehill any damn time I please, Leonard, because I bring home the money in this family.” His father’s gaze hardened on him. Clenching his fists, he made a decision.

 

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Leonard stood, kicking his chair back. 

 

\--

 

Leonard stared across the coffee table at Pavel, who was doodling in his sketchbook. He was curled in on himself slightly, neck bent and shoulders hunched as he drew. Pavel felt like home to Leonard, now that they’ve been friends for nearly a year and a half. Something about his broad shoulders and the way he carried himself made Leonard think he was Atlas, holding the world on his back, without so much as faltering. In a way, he did carry the world, and he released it onto paper whenever he picked up a pencil. 

 

“What’re you drawing?”

 

“You.”

 

“Oh?” Pavel looked up at him, and took a drink from his tea. He never liked coffee much. Leonard blamed it on his Russian upbringing. Len, on the other hand, couldn’t go a full day without a cup. Once, Pavel chided him for it, calling it an _ addiction. _ Leonard just laughed. What was an addiction was how Len couldn’t stop stealing glances at his friend, but he’d never admit that. 

 

“Am I not allowed to?” 

 

“You can, I guess. I just don’t think I’m much of a subject.”

 

“Заткнись, Len.” Leonard laughed. He’d heard that enough to know it meant  _ shut up.  _

 

\--

 

“Pasha, a letter!” His mom called up the stairs. He bounded down, feet barely hitting the steps, and snatched the envelope from his mother’s hands. The return address was for the school he applied to. Pavel’s father was already waiting on the couch, so no time was wasted: he tore it open. Small bits of confetti fell out of the envelope and he unfolded the letter.  _ Congratulations! _ was all he read before he shouted excitedly. 

 

“You did it?” His father asked. 

 

“Yes!” He replied, fists pumping into the air. A smile broke out on his father’s face, and tears streamed down his mother’s. They both wrapped their son in a hug. 

 

“You’re going to America,” His mom wept, running her fingers through his dark hair.

 

“Yes, I’m finally going!”   
  
“You have to be careful, son. America is a big place,” His father added.

 

“I will be as safe as possible.”   
  
“You promise to call and send letters?” His mom asked.

 

“I promise to call and send letters.”

 

“Take photos of your artwork.”

 

“I will.” He gave them one last hug before rushing to his room to pack, even though the move wouldn’t be till the end of the summer. His father wrapped an arm around his mother’s shoulder.

 

“I always knew we had something special in him.”

 

\--

 

It was the week before senior portfolios were due, and pressure was at an all-time high. The two of them were holed up in Leonard’s apartment, Leonard painting away, and Pavel editing on photoshop. It was after 2am, but work was nowhere near being finished.

 

“Your eyes came out very blue in this photo,” Pavel said aloud, as he toggled the brightness.

 

“Oh?” 

 

“Дa, look.” A groan, a pop of a back, and Leonard was sauntering over to the laptop. 

 

“ _ Oh. _ Pav, you make me look good.” Pavel turned to look at his friend, and his heart clenched in his chest. 

 

“No, Len. No matter what lens or camera I use, you will always turn out handsome.” He couldn’t tell whether it was just the lighting, but he swore he saw Leonard blush.

 

“Thanks, Pav.” He wandered back to his place in front of the easel, and picked up his paintbrush. Pavel watched as Len put the music back on, and wiped his brow as he started to paint again. The bluish-green streak of paint on his forehead brought out his eyes.

 

\--

 

“Hey,” Leonard started, tapping his friend on the shoulder, “Do you ever think…”   
  


“What?” They were sitting together on a stoop outside of their senior showcase. It had ended about an hour ago, but when their apartments were only a 10 minute ride away on the N train, it couldn’t hurt to stay and chat. The New York sky was dark, but the lights around were dancing brightly. You couldn’t see the stars in Manhattan, like you could in Georgia or Russia, but the nighttime in New York was beautiful in its own right. 

 

“Never mind.”

 

“No, now I’m interested. What were you going to say, Len?” He sighed.

 

“I was just thinking that…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I don’t know if you even would agree…”   
  
“Get on with it.”

 

“Would you like to go out? To get something to eat?”   
  
“Right now? It’s a little late.” 

 

“No, I mean…”

 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ .”

 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I figure, school’s ending anyways, so we don’t have to be around each other anymore.” Silence hung in the air, and this was the first time in a while that a silence between the two of them was uncomfortable. Leonard turned to look at Pavel.

 

“Len?”

 

“Yeah?” Pavel reached up and pressed his lips to Len’s. 

 

“That would be nice.” Len smiled. Even if his art career didn’t pan out, he still got something out of this that nothing a blue collar job in Georgia would have even come close to getting him. 

 

Pavel grinned. His fingers were already itching to write about this in a letter to his mom. 


End file.
